I told him the truth gently and in a way appropriate for his age. I held Noah close when he started to cry, keeping him near until his breathing calmed. The police escorted Raymond out of the room. His gaze remained fixed on the floor.
Mark was waiting for us in the driveway when we got home. He was trembling and pale. “What happened?” he asked, looking at Noah.
I gave a detailed explanation: the stranger, the security footage, the fence, and his motive. Mark’s face tightened with anger, but he suppressed it as he turned to Noah.
Later that night, after Noah had fallen asleep, Mark said, “I should have been the one in that car.”
I told him not to say that.
I can’t stop thinking about it.
I said, “Me neither.” However, we must keep Noah safe. We can’t afford to let the grief consume us.
Mark pressed harder against the back of my chair. Today you made the right decision.
I know that, but my illness persists.
Two days later, I drove to the cemetery alone. After placing the white daisies on his headstone, I gently traced Ethan’s name with my finger.
I said, “Hello, sweetheart.” I apologize for not being able to protect you. I apologize for not being able to say goodbye.
Tears welled up in my eyes, but I let them fall. Perhaps I can never forgive the driver, at least not now. No more strangers speaking for my son. No more borrowed words, no more secrets. I sat up and exhaled until the trembling in my chest subsided after placing my palm against the hard, cold stone. I knew I had the strength to endure the agony, even though it was still there and always would be. It was the pure, undeniable pain of truth.
